Talk You Down
by Sammiantha-x
Summary: A quick drabble written to help get me back into the writing groove - - Craig and Tweek have had a fight, and Craig needs to make it better. Creek pairing. Rated T for a few swears.


**Title:** Talk You Down

**Author: **Sammiantha-x-

**Pairing: **Craig x Tweek

**Notes: **I know it's really out of character in regards to Craig, but this is my first South Park fic, and I only really wrote it to get me back into the writing habit. Sorry for average-ness.

---x---

Half an hour ago, I watched you walk out the door of our small little house, and right now I'm starting to panic.

I know I shouldn't have yelled, and honestly, I feel awful now. But you've got to understand, I get tired sometimes, and you're not exactly an easy person to be with. I love you, you need me, and I will always, always protect you, but sometimes, sometimes…

These things don't exist, Tweek. You jump and you twitch, you shiver and shake, you're scared of all these things and they aren't even fucking _real._ And I try to help. I hold you, I kiss you better, I even let you sleep with a fucking knife under your pillow, right next to our heads. I do this because with or without your crazy, I need you, and I have sworn I will keep you safe. But waking up at 3.30 in the morning with that knife pointing directly between my eyes, I'm not okay with that. That wasn't okay.

So I lost my temper. I yelled a bit. You started to cry. This frustrated me because despite the fact that thirty seconds ago you had been about to blade me in the face, I still wanted to cuddle you now, kiss your hair and tell you I'd protect you. From what? Me? From yourself?

Instead, I grabbed the knife from where you had dropped it, and threw it. Not at you, but close enough that I knew you'd get frightened. I knew it'd make you jump.

I'll never forget the look in your eyes. It was like you were trying to convey a thousand conflicting messages. Mistrust, apologies, anger, love, all of these emotions leaked out with your tears, and before I had the chance to reach out my arms in surrender, you had taken off.

I didn't think you'd be gone this long. I know you panic out of doors, and right now it's night time, and dark. Not to mention raining. Most days, I couldn't tempt you out of the house in these conditions with the world's largest, most steaming cup of fresh coffee. Which is why I'm panicking.

I grab my raincoat, my blue hat, and a bag. I'm about to walk out the door when I realise that when you left, you wore nothing but your thin, white shirt, and so I grab your raincoat too, and the thermos of coffee that you've left on the kitchen bench. You can't drive, a fact that I'm thankful for as I pull my truck out of the driveway and set off down the street.

The rain pummels me front windscreen, and though the window wipers work with all their might, my vision is blurred and warped through the tumbles of water. I can't see a thing but the light from my head lights and the few metres of road ahead that they illuminate, and I'm realising that maybe the car isn't such a good idea after all.

I pull to the side of the street, and as I step outside, the water attacks me, beating me down, challenging me. I pay it no attention, and set off at a run. I don't know if you've come this way. I don't know anything but for the raging panic inside of me, picturing you hurt, wet, lonely, scared… I pick up the pace of my strides. I won't rest until you're safe in my arms again.

***

Three hours later, the sun is beginning to rise, and I pull the truck up the driveway. Your head rests in my lap, your wet hair flat and clinging to your forehead. I'm furious again, but this time not at you, at myself. I pick you up gently, carry you inside the house, which I carelessly left unlocked, and lay you on our couch. Carefully, so as not to alarm you, I remove your soaking shirt, and the wrap you in the softest, thickest blanket I can find. The last thing I do is make you coffee, kneeling down beside your snivelling, shaking frame, wrapping your numb hands around the burning mug, held steady only because my own hands lay on top of yours, keeping a firm grip. You sip. I smile. Your eyes flutter open, and make contact with mine, and I'm once again startled by the rush of emotions that come pouring out. Still fear, still love, still apologies. You open your lips to say something, your soft voice coming out in a weak whisper.

"It was the…"

You trail off, because I'm pressing my lips your yours, trying in a desperate attempt to warm them up. When I pull away, I'm glad to see that there's some blood and warmth returned to your face. When you open your mouth to try again at the explanation that I know is coming, I cut you off.

"I know," I say, kissing the tip of your nose gently.

"It was those god damn fucking gnomes."

You nod, close your eyes and sigh contentedly, satisfied that everything has been explained. And though I'd still like to know how your hallucinations of underpants-stealing gnomes ended up with your nine inch kitchen knife pointed at my nose, I'm far too busy kissing your lips, your cheeks, your forehead and your eyelids, everywhere I can reach, and thanking God that I found you, to be bothered asking right now.

---x---

**AN: **Reviews are loved, whether good or bad. =)


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